“Why, our fair friend, Letty Lenehan--begad, Mogue, she's a purty girl that--says she to herself,” proceeded the pedlar; “for I don't think she knew or thought I heard her--'If I thought he would like these rib-bons, I'd buy them for myself.' 'Who do you mane, acushla?' says I, whisperin' to her. 'Who,' says she, 'but--but Mogue himself--only honor bright, Mr. Magrath' says she, 'sure you wouldn't betray me?' 'Honor bright again,' says I, 'I'm not the stuff a traitor's made of;' and so you see we both laughed heartily, bekaise we understood one another. Mogue,” proceeded the other, “will you answer me the truth in one thing?” “If I can I will, Misther Magrath. “I know ye will, bekaise you can,” replied, the pedlar; “how do you come round the girls at all? how do you make them fond o' you? I want you to tell me that, if it's not a family saicret.” Mogue gravely drew his fingers and thumb down his thin yellow jaws, until they met under his chin, and replied-- “It can't be tould, Misther Magrath; some men the women's naturally fond of, and some men they can't bear--throth it's like a freemason's saicret, if you wor a man that the women wor naturally fond of you'd know it yoarself, but not bein' that, Mr. Magrath, you could not understand it. It's born wid one, an' troth, a troublesome gift it is--for it is a gift--at least, I find it so. There's no keep in' the crathurs oft o' you.” “Begad, you must be a happy man, Mogue. I wish I was like you--but whisper, man alive, why don't you look higher. “How is that?” asked the other, now apparently awakened to a new interest. “Mogue,” said the pedlar, with something like solemnity of manner, “you and I are both embarked in the same ship, you know--we know how things are to go. I'm now provin' to you that I'm your friend. Listen, you passed through the back-yard to-day while I was in the parlor wid the family sellin' my goods as well as I could. Well, Miss Julia had a beautiful shawl about her purty shoulders, and as she seen you passin, she started, kept her eyes fixed upon you till you disappeared, and then, afther thinkin 'or some time, she sighed deeply. Whisper, the thing flashed upon me--that's that, thought I, at any rate--and devil a doubt of it, you're safe there, or my name's not Andy Magrath, better known as the Cannie Soogah-Hurra, Mogue, more power!” A richer comic study than Mogue's face ould not possibly be depicted. His thin craggy jaws--for cheeks he had none--were winkled and puckered into such a multiplicity of villanous folds and crevices, as could scarcely be paralleled on a human countenance; and what added to the ludicrous impression made, was the fact that he endeavored to look--and, in fact, did so successfully--more like a man who felt that a secret long known to himself had been discovered, than a person to whom the intelligence had come for the first time.